Chapter 10: The Loading Dock

I got off the stool.

I walked down the counter in Cal's shirt and stopped in front of her, close enough to smell her perfume.

Something powdery and expensive.

"You threatened a pregnant woman's bakery in front of her," I said. "In a man's kitchen. Before breakfast."

"I stated a fact."

"Here's one back. I'm not going anywhere on Saturday except a party."

Her eyes flicked to Cal.

"He won't take you to Port Night. He hasn't come to Port Night in nine years."

"I'm going," Cal said. "I'm bringing two guests."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I'm an Ellery," he said. "You keep reminding me."

Marguerite pulled her glove back on, one finger at a time.

"Then wear something washable," she said to me, and left.

Roisin flipped a pancake perfectly and said, "I hate her so much my teeth hurt."

The Harbor Grand ballroom on Saturday night looked nothing like it did at three in the morning.

I knew every inch of it at three in the morning.

The loading dock at the back, where I'd hauled forty bags of trash a night for three months.

Tonight it was crystal and white roses and the whole Boston waterfront in black tie.

Cal walked me in on his arm.

I wore a long black dress with no back, borrowed from a woman on my team who was my size and had a sense of humor about it.

Roisin walked on his other side in green, her hand on her belly without thinking about it.

The room noticed us in waves.

"Oh my God."

It was the roommate from the gate.

She was standing by the champagne tower with three girls in sequins.

"Look who climbed out of the mop closet," she said. "Into an Ellery."

The girls laughed.

"Is she on the clock?" one of them said. "Does she clean up after?"

"Ladies," he said. "Have a good night."

We kept walking.

At the front of the room there was a low stage with a podium and a long table set for the signing.

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